LITMIR.BIZ

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on the new Silver Power League Community Center and the extensive greenhouse that goes with it. Everyone was so involved by then, so excited at what we were creating.”

      “And Scroogen?”

      “Months went by and he never even contacted us. We thought that like his great aunt, he supported us. We went blissfully on with our plans. The buildings are magnificent. We’ve all been so proud. We held an open house two months ago. Invited everyone in the community.”

      Octavia was certain she knew what was coming. “Let me guess. Scroogen showed up then with an appraiser?”

      Mab nodded. “Because of our improvements, the property is now worth far more than it was before. He and the appraiser spent hours evaluating every inch before he presented us with an astronomical monthly rent and a six-month deposit demand, all payable by December 1. We barely managed to scrape together December’s rent and half of the deposit demand. It cleaned out our savings. He served us immediately with a thirty-day eviction notice. If we don’t come up with with the rest of the deposit and January’s rent by January 1, we’re out.”

      Octavia sipped her cider. It would be so easy to get upset. But getting upset was not going to help her grandmother’s predicament. Only clear thinking could do that. Besides, Octavia had never been one to waste time wringing her hands over what was already done.

      “Scroogen must have plans for that land to be so bent on forcing you seniors out.”

      “About two and a half weeks ago, the bulldozers arrived and started leveling the houses on the rest of the block adjacent to our center. I checked the county assessor’s office and found that the Scrooge owns all the property. What’s more, he began buying it right after he acquired his great aunt’s land and we started building the new Silver Power League Community Center. A public notice went in the newspaper yesterday. He’s building a condominium complex.”

      “Right next to your community center?”

      “Right over our community center. We invited the workers driving the bulldozers in for tea and cookies and pumped them. Their foreman is Keneth George, a native American of the Suquamish Tribe, and a real nice young man. He told us the Scrooge has approval to build a very exclusive, high-priced condominium complex on all the land he owns.”

      “So he’s been planning on evicting you all along.”

      “Absolutely. The far-end parcel connects to the water. He’s going to build a private ferry system to Seattle for the owners of the condos. Keneth said he’s going to use our new community center as a clubhouse and our greenhouse as an indoor garden for the people who purchase the units.”

      Octavia shook her head. “And he let you build them for him. This guy is a real piece of work. Your Scrooge label fits him only too well. Is the site zoned for multiple-family dwelling?”

      “Yes. There was a small four-unit complex in the middle that was inhabited by seniors before he bought them out and tore it down. Octavia, he’s setting up the whole block to be a new bedroom community for Seattle.”

      “And concentrated residences such as this condominium complex mean lots more people. Demands for water, electricity, gas stations, fast-food restaurants, shopping centers, everything rises. That will change the whole atmosphere of your quiet little community.”

      “That’s precisely what I’ve been telling my radio listeners this last week. The Scrooge’s plan to push out the Silver Power League is only the start of the breakup of our community. It isn’t just our community center’s one block that will be affected. Our whole neighborhood for miles will be changed. With the influx of the affluent commuters, property values and taxes will skyrocket until the seniors on social security will be forced out from homes they’ve lived in all their lives. Unless he’s stopped.”

      “Are you getting much response to your radio broadcasts?”

      “The station has been deluged with callers—of all ages, I’m happy to say—all asking what they can do. I tell them to write letters and make phone calls to the mayor, the chamber of commerce and Bremerton’s Community Development Department. Still, every morning the bulldozers arrive at eight sharp.”

      “Since the condominium complex is already allowed outright by the zoning code, even if these officials were sympathetic, they have no legal recourse to stop it.”

      “I know. When I called the mayor’s office, I was told his hands are tied.”

      “This complex would be thoroughly welcomed in other Bremerton neighborhoods, inasmuch as it would bring the promise of jobs and new industry. But your neighborhood is such a poor place to put it. Have you mentioned that fact to the Scrooge?”

      “I called him as soon as I heard about the condo complex. But he wouldn’t listen. He hung up on me.”

      “Feeling secure in his legal rights, no doubt.”

      “I don’t care about legal rights, Octavia, only what is right. I’m going to raise the money to meet the Scrooge’s rent demand. Our little corner of Bremerton is made up mostly of seniors. We know one another. We help one another. We’re holding on to our life-style and our neighborhood. We’re not letting ourselves be shoved aside.”

      Octavia rested her hand on her grandmother’s arm and gave it a supportive squeeze.

      “You say you’ve been running your broadcasts against Scroogen this last week?”

      “Once, sometimes twice, a day, I plead for a call to arms—phone-calling and letter-writing ones, of course. The radio station is our communicator, the only immediate information and entertainment line I have to many nonambulatory seniors. They count on me, Octavia. That’s why this business about an FCC complaint is so disturbing. I originally called you hoping you could suggest a legal way to fight the Scrooge’s astronomical rent demand. But this FCC complaint is more serious. I can’t lose my radio license. The seniors’ communication lifeline can’t be cut off. What can I do?”

      Octavia sent her grandmother a reassuring smile.

      “Mab, don’t worry about losing your license. This FCC complaint is a joke. Merlin never really thought there was anything lewd or improper about your ‘Senior-Sex-Talk’ programs. Nor does he expect the FCC to take the complaint seriously, much less revoke your license.”

      “Then why did he do and say what he did?”

      “My educated guess is that he staged that scene this morning for the sole purpose of getting the photographer to shoot some pictures to go along with a local newspaper story.”

      “How do you know that photographer was from the newspaper?”

      “Because this ridiculous, trumped-up charge is just the kind of sensational story a newspaper will eat up. Think about it, Mab. A seventy-six-year-old gal is being reported to the FCC because her ‘Senior-Sex-Talk’ show is alleged to violate a morality clause. Could you ask for better?”

      Mab laughed suddenly, relief rampant in the happy sound. “You’re right, Octavia! I don’t know why I didn’t see it. Even I would run a news brief on that storyline. It’s bound to give people a good laugh.”

      “Yes, Mab. People are going to laugh,” Octavia said, not a vestige of humor in her voice. “And that’s the part I’m worried about.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Your radio campaign against Scroogen is being taken seriously. People are making calls and writing letters. What better way to draw attention away from the seriousness of what you have to say then by making you and your radio station into a joke?”

      “I see. So the Scrooge had Merlin file that complaint with the FCC to make people laugh at me!”

      “I doubt Scroogen thought of it. It’s too smooth and slick. I think this was the brainchild of the Magician.”

      “The Magician?”

      “It’s what

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